Week 1 was wonderful. I was thrilled to no longer be pregnant (and still am). We were still in holiday mode, all of the family was here together, and now Judah was here with us too. Shimmy took off from work- both from going into work and from doing work of any kind from home. Even though I was sleep-deprived, I was running on adrenaline. I was in bris preparation mode- going to the florist to pick out centerpieces, menu planning with the caterer, picking out linens at the linen guy’s warehouse, writing my speech, making arrangements for the friends and family that were coming in from out of town, etc. Because the bris was on another holiday, and one of the largest in terms of synagogue attendance (namely, Simchat Torah) we planned a luncheon for a few hundred people. All of the major event planning took my focus and stress away from the main event: the circumcision itself. Everything went perfectly, thank God, and it was a beautiful event. Unfortunately, because it was on a holiday we have no pictures. About a week after the bris I got around to staging some pictures:
Jude on his bris pillow, wearing the outfit that Shimmy wore to his own bris. Taken one week after the actual bris, but better late that never!
Week 2 is when I crashed, but remained in good spirits. I was exhausted, but optimistic that things would ease up soon. I felt determined to keep things running smoothly and to rough out the storm (which, from past parenting experience is never longer than three months). Shimmy was back at work and busier than ever (which, for him, meant not coming home at all some nights), but still I persevered.
A picture of Jude cropped from a picture of him with one of our many visitors.
Week 3 is when I snapped. I did have some help- friends brought dinners and my parents came up to help several times, but I could feel that sense of doom falling upon me. One evening I sat on my bed holding a fussy Jude while my parents sat on my rug, each of them holding one of the girls while they watched a tv show. I could not stop sobbing. All I could think was, “I need some effing sleep.” I felt like I was running on auto pilot. I was depressed and numb. One Sunday I managed to escape long enough to get my eyebrows waxed. It felt good to have hot wax poured on my skin and ripped off. It felt like something besides my usual haze. When the aesthetician was finished, the clock in the salon chimed on the hour, and, I kid you not, played “Hey Jude.” It was time to go back to the crazy.
Jude in his CAPS gear. We watched the game together on one of our lonely, and sleepless, nights.
By Week 4 things started looking up. I finally started getting some sleep. I began going to sleep around 9 or 10pm instead of waiting for the midnight feeding. Judah also started sleeping for three or four hours at a time some nights instead of his typical two. Somehow I managed to work out twice and even did my own nails. Though, I think what really improved things was having cocktails at 11am with my girlfriends, during what has until now been referred to as “playgroup,” but what will henceforth be referred to as “Tuesday brunch and cocktails.” I love my ladies!
My personal trainer napping in his swing in our home gym while I ran on the treadmill.
Which brings us to the present: Tomorrow my Judah Jack will be one month old! Even though it’s been rough at times, I love him to pieces and I can’t imagine our family without him.
Hanging out in the fall leaves
